We visited an island last weekend that burst up and out of the Pacific Ocean almost like a volcano. In the distance sat Fuji-san, the majestic mountain who often hides behind a mystery of clouds.
A rock in the water looked like a huge Megalodon fin that seemed forever caught in the act of breaching the sea.
On the island itself, crowded streets were lined with shops hawking everything from seashell lamps to all manner of dragons, since this was the island where a dragon fell in love with a maiden. Legend has it that after years of being kept apart, the two were finally allowed to marry and live happily ever after.
I knew this much as we reached a decision point on the street that wound upward. From there, we could either take stairs upon stairs to get to the top of the island, or we could take an escalator.
Everyone else chose the escalator and teased me as I started my climb.
Gnarled trees and mossy rocks hugged the winding, stair-studded path, and huge spider webs hung in the air.
Up and up I went.
I’ve been here long enough that I wasn’t surprised to find a shrine at the top. It celebrated the maiden who had won the heart of the dragon.
What did surprise me was the fact that this maiden had turned into a goddess somewhere along the way—Benzaiten. The goddess of the arts.
You’ve got to be kidding me, I thought to myself.
That might seem like a strange reaction, so let me explain.
Benzaiten is a character in the novel I’ve been working on—the one about a girl who goes to Japan and receives a beautiful and gnarled bonsai tree. When she gets it back home to Minnesota, her cat knocks it off the bookshelf, and seven luck gods escape.
Benzaiten is one of those gods on the loose that my main character has to find and return to the tree.
This all sounds sweet and amazing. To unexpectedly stumble upon the shrine of a goddess from my book? What could be better than that?
I started this novel five years ago, when I was undergoing treatment for cancer and when my marriage was falling apart.
I would send 300 words a day to my daughter, who cheered me on.
That book, with its plucky main character named Hazel Dell, saved me.
Again, sweet, right?
I’m still working on this damn novel five years later, and some days, I feel like Sisyphus—editing it again and again, trying to get it right.
There are days when the effort feels fruitless, pointless.
A new day? Here’s some breakfast. Now, off you go to push your boulder up the mountain!
Good morning! Oh! You thought you were done? Silly you. That boulder isn’t going to push itself up the mountain, you know.
What’s more is Benzaiten is not the only god from my book that I’ve seen while in Japan. There’s Bishamoten, the god of war that I saw in a museum, his foot crushing an opponent’s head.
Yebisu, the god of fishing, is a brand of beer.
The cans are everywhere—from konbinis (convenience stores) to sitting unopened on headstones in cemeteries next to an empty glass.
Then there’s the tanuki—an animal in Japan that looks like a raccoon dog. They sit in front of stores, homes, shrines and are known for being tricksters, gleeful bringers of chaos.
Oh, this is what you’d like? Too bad! Here’s what you are going to get instead. Now, what are you going to do about it?
So, as I stood in the shrine of the goddess of the arts, a part of me was ready to stomp my foot like a toddler and demand my Disney ending to this novel that had been borne out of a crucible of fire. Didn’t this goddess know what it had cost me? Surely, I deserved a beautiful ending to that part of my story.
Just like her—the maiden and her dragon.
But as I stood in her presence, she didn’t whip out a willow wand and poof! make all my dreams come true. She just sat there, smiling her enigmatic smile. As other people streamed by, I stayed. And stayed some more. Finally the urge to fight and fume passed. I turned my palms up.
Because I realized my journey with my novel is exactly like my journey up those stairs, which is exactly like my life.
Even though it can feel like there are tanukis everywhere—chaotic forces hovering about, ready to thwart or snatch what feels dear—according to the Bhagavad Gita, all we can do is the work. Our work.
We are not entitled to any fruits of our actions.
Quieter inside, I left the shrine and walked down the other side of the island to get to the cave where the dragon lived.
Lights twinkled on the walls.
Waves crashed outside.
I stood.
I breathed.
All kinds of stairs would greet me as soon as I stepped back outside.
And that was okay. I would take this step. And then this one. To do what I could to make my character become even more vibrant and alive.
In other words, I was ready to meet my next tanuki, who was sure to declare with a gleam in its eye, Suck it up, Buttercup. And don’t forget your boulder.
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p.s. I loved the island so much, I went back to visit it again. As I was leaving the island the second time, I spied these in a store—they are the seven luck gods that are in my book. I have the same exact ones back home on a bookshelf. The same. Exact. Ones. I bought them on eBay when I started my book. Clearly, the gods are messing with me.
magnificent. huge. green. light. GO!